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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
(BDutational Dtjmrtiront. 
BY L. WETHERELL. 
CONVERSATION alias THE TONGUE. 
“ Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” 
An old writer compares the tongue to a 
fire—also to a world of iniquity. Behold, 
says he, how great a matter a little fire 
kindleth. The tongue is declared to bo un¬ 
tamable—here it differs from the serpent 
which is tamable, but it resembles tho ser¬ 
pent in being full of deadly poison. Aye, 
the person whose tongue has not been tained 
and brought into subordination to Christian 
charity, thatthinketh no evil, much less giv- 
eth utterance to it, is more to bo dreaded 
and consequently to be shunned, than the 
most deadly reptile that draws its slimy 
body along tho earth’s surface. 
Tl» good or bad that the tongue can do, 
cither to one’s self or to another, is inex¬ 
pressible ; for wounds have been made which 
no skill could heal—so has pleasure been 
imparted, that no tongue could duly re¬ 
spond to—for every heart knoweth its own 
joys and griefs, and also knoweth that these 
must bo experienced and felt in order to be 
fully known. No small share of tho suffer¬ 
ing and misery of life, may be traced di¬ 
rectly to tho exercise of the tongue, tho far 
too frequent disturber of the peace of fam¬ 
ilies and neighborhoods. 
Talc-bearing, slander, detraction, scandal, 
gossip, &c., are to bo guarded against in 
conversation. Theso demons most com¬ 
monly take up their abode in heads where 
knowledge has not the preoccupancy. A va¬ 
cant mind may bo known by its topics of 
conversation. Better talk about things, 
than about persons—but if you must talk 
about the latter, speak of their good quali¬ 
ties—or say nothing about them, unless it 
has become absolute duty to do so, as is 
sometimes the case, though not often. How 
can the back-biter, the reputation-blackener 
and thief, look upon himself wi h any more 
approval than if his hands had picked away 
the money or other property of him whose 
character he has been defaming—whose good 
name has been filched, in comparison with 
which, his purse is but trash, and his other 
property but dust ? Never give utterance 
to unkind thoughts about any one, though 
they strive ever so hard for the immortality 
of words. 
Says a modern writer, “ the dissection of 
a slanderer’s or tale-bearer’s heart would 
present the most loathsome specimen of 
morbid anatomy conceivable. It is full of 
the most malignant poison. Its life is all 
mean, low, serpent-like—a life that cannot 
hear the light, but finds all its nourishment 
in darkness. Were these foul and malig¬ 
nant forms of speech incapable of harming 
others—did human reptiles of this class 
creep about in some outward guise which 
could be recognized by all, and their words 
he taken for what they are worth, and no 
more—still I would beg them for their own 
salces, not to degrade themselves into the 
likeness of a creeping thing ; I would en¬ 
treat them not to be guilty of tho meanest 
and most miserable of all forms of suicide; 
I would beseech them, if they are deter¬ 
mined to sell their souls, to got some better 
price for them than the scorn, contempt and 
dread of all whoso esteem is worth pos¬ 
sessing .’ 7 
The number that spend their time in idle 
talk is legion. “ Tho most trivial occurences 
of the day, tho concerns of the neighbor¬ 
hood, the floating gossip, whether good- 
natured or malignant—dress, food, frivol¬ 
ous surmises, paltry plans, vanities too 
light to remain an hour upon the memory— 
those aro the sole staplo of what too many 
call conversation : and many are the young- 
people who are training themselves in the 
use of speech for no higher -or better pur¬ 
pose. But the minds of such grow moro 
shallow and superficial. They constantly 
lose ground, if they ever had any, as intel¬ 
lectual and moral beings. Such speech 
makes a person of however genteel training^ 
coarse and vulgar, not in character only, but 
in manners and voico, and with sad fre¬ 
quency obliterates traits of rich loveliness 
and promise. 
The merely idle tongue, is readily be¬ 
trayed into guilt. A person cannot indulge 
in idle, reckless talk, without being impli¬ 
cated in all tho current slander and calum¬ 
ny, and acquiring gradually the envious and 
malignant traits of a hackneyed talo-bearer. 
The person, who in youth, can attract tho 
attention and win the favor of those like 
himself by flippant and valuable conversa¬ 
tion, will subsequently in the same circles, 
encounter neglect and dislike, and this be¬ 
fore the meridian of life is attained ; for it 
takes all tho charms that youth, sprightli¬ 
ness and high animal spirits can furnish, to 
make an idle tongue even endurable.” 
Let the youth of both sexes ever keep in 
mind, that though it is beyond their power 
to taine the tongue of another, it is within 
tho power of every one to tame his or 
her own, if commenced in season. Keep 
away from gossippers, tale-bearers, slander¬ 
ers, back-biters, reputation-thieves—keep no 
company with such, for they sleep not un¬ 
less they have blackened tho character of 
some, by their foul speech, indicative of a 
fouler heart within, of which the conversa¬ 
tion is an index. Evil communications cor¬ 
rupt good manners, by corrupting the whole 
heart and mind—therefore avoid them as 
you love your own good name. Refuse to 
listen to tho conversation of all such as 
make it their delight to speak evil of others 
—to exhibit their faults and weaknesses. If 
a person has any excellencies of character 
love to mention theso, if you speak of him 
at all. But alas ! how often is this reversed 
—the good is concealed, while the bad is 
brought forward and gloated over. If a 
good name bo moro precious than life it¬ 
self, and the penalty of taking life bo hang¬ 
ing, what shall be the punishment of him 
who taketh away the life of one’s reputation 
by the tongue ? We would suggest that 
that which was inflicted upon Cain might 
do, until some one more commensurate with 
the evil done might bo dovised. Love thy 
neighbor as thyself—then wilt thou avoid 
every kind of evil speaking. 
NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
The Grammar of English Grammars : with an 
Introduction, Historical and Critical; the whole 
methodically arranged, and amply illustrated.— 
With Forms of Correcting and of Parsing, Im¬ 
proprieties for correction. Examples for parsing, 
Questions for examination, Exercises for wri¬ 
ting, Observations for the advanced student, 
Decisions and proofs for the settlement of dis¬ 
puted points, Occasional strictures and defences; 
An exhibition of the several methods of analy¬ 
sis, and a Key to the oral exercises. To which 
are added four appendixes, pertaining seperately 
to the four parts of Grammar. By Goold 
Brown, Author of the Institutes of English 
Grammar. 8 vo., pp. 1028. New York : S. S. 
<fc W. Wood. 
The Grammar of Grammars is, what 
Murray’s octavo was, the most comprehen¬ 
sive and critical grammar of the English 
language extant. Such a work has for a 
long time been a desideratum. The well 
known and distinguished reputation of the 
author, ‘as an English grammarian, was a 
sufficient guarantee that his book would be 
a superior one. It is a work of great copi¬ 
ousness and elaborate finish, developing the 
peculiarities of the language, both idiomatic 
and constructive. Nothing seems to escape 
the acuteness of tho author’s notice.— 
Ho defines, compares, analyzes, discusses 
disputed points, and settles them by 
appealing to tho law and. tho testimony 
demonstrating every step by illustrations 
drawn from tho “ code of false syntax,” se¬ 
lected chiefly from English grammars of 
modern date. 
Tho author lias given a “ Digested Cata¬ 
logue” of nearly five hundred grammars, 
that are cited in the Grammar of English 
Grammars, a work, which in our opinion, is 
worth more to tho student and scholar, than 
the whole “ catalogue” of English grammars 
besides. It is tho work of a well disciplined 
mind, richly stored with philosophical loro, 
and trained to thorough and deep thought 
and investigation. 
Every teacher and author should have 
this book lying upon his table to e;uido 
whenever syntactical or idiomatical doubts 
arise. What Webster is to the etymology 
of words, Brown is to syntax. For sale 
at Wm. Alling’s. 
EDUCATIONAL NOTICES. 
American Institute of Instruction.— 
The twenty-third annual meeting of this 
Educational Association will bo held in Troy, 
N. Y., on the Gth, 7th, and 9th of August. 
Let every teacher who can make it conven¬ 
ient to do so, attend tho meeting at Troy— 
for this old Institute is tho best educational 
body in our country. 
The American Association for the ad¬ 
vancement of education, will hold its next 
annual meeting August 10th, at Newark, N. 
J., commencing at 10 o’clock, a. m. 
Arrangements have been made east, for 
passing members over tho roads at half 
price. Wo have no doubt that the railroad 
corporations will do the same generous 
thing here, if requested. 
Labor Honorable. —Tho man who is able 
to work and does not, is to be pitied as well 
as despised* He knows nothing of sweet 
sleep and pleasant dreams. He is a miser¬ 
able drone, and eat3 a substance he does not 
earn. Perhaps he thinks it is not genteel 
to work. His kind of gentility is the most 
worthless and contemptible of all gentility. 
Had not those before him, near or remote, 
toiled hard, the degenerate son or daughter 
would bo compelled to earn their bread in¬ 
stead of being a bogus aristocracy upon 
property they never earned. Our genera¬ 
tion labors hard to accumulate dollars and 
cents, for a generation of simpletons to 
squander. 
Do not occupy yourself with anything ex¬ 
citing before going to bed, as you will be 
very liable to be disturbed by disagreeable 
dreams. 
3fMin.il rsurtonj. 
AN AUSTRALIAN KANGAROO HUNT. 
A voyager who found his way and his 
residence temporarily in Australia, gives us 
a small item of his experience in kangaroo 
hunting : 
The kangaroo, which was feeding in a 
patch of long grass, jumped up under our 
horses’ feet, and at first going off looked very 
much like a red doer hind. Its action was 
less smooth though equally swift; but no 
one could have guessed that it consisted 
only of a series of jumps, the fore-feet never 
touching ground. A shrill tally ho from 
one of the finest riders I ever saw, made all 
the dogs spring into the air. Two of them 
got away on pretty good terms with our 
quarry, and, while facing the hill at a pace 
considerably greater than an ordinary hunt¬ 
ing gallop, I thought we should have had a 
“ whoo—whoop ! ” in less than five minutes. 
After crossing a ridge and commencing the 
descent however, the red-flyer showed us 
quite “another pair of shoes,” and a pretty 
fast pair too. I never saw a stag in view- 
go at all like our two legged friend ; and, 
in short, after a burst of twelve or fourteen 
minutes, both dogs and men were fairly dis¬ 
tanced. In about half that time I had lost 
my place by riding at full speed into the 
fork of a fallen tree concealed in the long- 
grass, a predicament out of which there was 
only one means of extrication, namely, re¬ 
treat ; for cavalry has no chance against a 
good abattis. The Australian gentlemen 
present rode with snaffle bridles pretty 
nearly at full speed, through, under or over 
the forest trees, according to their position, 
standing or postrate, the great art being, it 
would seem, to leave the horse as much as 
possible to his own guidance. On the 
whole, taking into consideration the hard¬ 
ness of the ground, the stump holes, sun- 
cracks, and fissures caused by water, the 
stiffness of tho underwood, and the fre¬ 
quency of the trees, living, dying, and 
dead, burnt and burning, the riding in a 
kangaroo hunt may be considered tolerably 
dangerous. It affords, in short, to English 
manhood, that quantum of risk which 
seems to form the chief seasoning of the 
dish called sport. In a good run with fox 
hounds your person, on a race course your 
purse, are just sufficiently jeopardized to 
promote a pleasing degree of excitement. 
I think I perceive the reason wlhy the ani¬ 
mal always, if possible, takes a down hill 
course when pursued. The hare, which, 
like the kangaroo, has very long hind legs, 
prefers running up the hill, but she makes 
good uso also of her fore legs. At full 
speed the kangaroo’s fore feet, as I have 
said, never touch the ground, and, there¬ 
for#, in going down the hill, ho has more 
time to gather up his hinder limbs to re¬ 
peat his tremendous spring than he could 
have in facing an ascent. I wish I had had 
time* to Tneasmro tlio stroke of tVio l< red liv¬ 
er ” we chased to-day when at his best pace. 
THE BOBOLINK. 
“ Orio-la-culto —linken-toodle!—Orio-la 
culo-see! bobalinkem’s in tho meadow— 
meadow—meadow—see him here—here— 
here—bran new trowsers—satin vest— 
shiny stockings—snowy crest—loves tho 
lasses just the best—he ! ha ! Oriola-do by 
jings ! by jings —sheet !” 
Lor sakes! Whence all that gibberish, 
and that, too, right overhead ? Sure enough! 
If there ain’t our old friend, Robert Lin¬ 
coln ! Wo might have known the voice 
for none else could pour out so wild and 
full a gush of melody. 
Well, Rob, we love thee. We loved thee 
in our childhood, and years have but 
made us love thee more. Our heart will 
hold thee while it beats, for brightly there 
with all the sunny memories of the spring 
time of life, is the recollections of thyself 
and thy song. There are old associations 
which are stirred as if awakened by thy 
notes, and tho fast receding realm of child¬ 
hood, beautiful in the haze of gathering- 
years, drifts like the golden clouds of a 
summer sky, before our vision. There Is 
the old meadow below tho orchard and 
gemmed with the daisy of purest gold ; the 
deep spring fringed with tho nodding grass 
and stealing away unseen to the woods ; the 
old butternuts, and the wide spreading and 
graceful elms with their tasseled branches 
hanging in tho winds; the rocks by the 
brooklet, old and moss covered to the 
water’s edge; and as we look, wo see the 
flooding glory of tho morning rolling on in 
its baptism of sunshine, and hear the min¬ 
strelsy of the birds, tho wild, free, and in¬ 
imitable gush of the bobolinks, shrill and 
clear abofo all, as they floated above tho 
meadow, their very pinions fluttering with 
the fullness of their melody. 
“ Orio-la-culio—by jings.” 
Reader, just look at that fellow ! Faith! 
did you ever look upon a daintier little 
chap ? A little foppish in his air, but so 
warm and hearty that all love him. That 
white roundabout and glossy vest—how 
neatly they fit him. Bob loves to appear 
fashionable. See his drab cap so jantily 
placed upon his head, and his pants—tight 
to the skin. See him with wings just raised 
start along the fence. His eye glistens 
with mischief and good humor, and up he 
springs as he catches sight of some lady 
Link hidden in the grass. Ho floats over 
the coy miss, and then poised in air with 
wings tremulous, he sustains himself while 
ho pours out a gush of song which warms 
the soul to hear, and then drops out of 
sight. Sometimes he hides himself in the 
topmost tuft of some tree in tho meadow 
and then gives his “ bird song ” with varia¬ 
tions, and Jenny Lind, Kate Hayes and the 
Black Swan all together, cannot let off such 
trills and shakes. We can only now and 
then understand the words of his songs for 
they are piled together in such dare-devil— 
half mad, yet beautiful confusion, that it 
would puzzle any but a bobolink to under¬ 
stand them. 
“ Ching ! Olio, la culio—I’m here again 
—O, see me— in tho meadow— Heigh ho ! 
how happy I am by jings—by jings—by 
jings—temperance ball a rolling on— old 
alchy—alchy’s seen his day—old skeezucks 
—skeezucks—skeezucks.” 
Still hovering over tho spring ho ap¬ 
pears to wet his whistle and continues. 
“ Olio-la - linktum -toodle — politicians 
shame the devil—corner stones and com¬ 
promises— Pierce he fainted — Chippewa 
and soup— Scott by jings— loaves and 
fishes—We’re coming—Law of Maine— 
Maine— Maine—O let us be joyful— good 
time coming—Cayuga Chief— spirit knock- 
ings—Mrs. Sweat — sweat — sweat — sweat — 
Olio— sheet, by jings.” „ 
What a rattle pato ! but his heart is full 
and right. He pops down into the long 
grass and says soft things to Mrs. Lincoln. 
May Rob live a thousand years to sing in 
the meadow.— Cayuga Chief. 
A ROBIN IN DIFFICULTY. 
While Mr. Charles Newall, granite-hewer 
in Dalbeattie, was plying his vocation on 
Thursday tho 10th inst-., at Craignair Quar¬ 
ry, his attention was suddenly arrested by 
cries strongly indicative of distress proceed¬ 
ing from one or other of the feathered den¬ 
izens of the wood. On throwing from him 
his tools and hurrying to the spot whence 
tho sounds proceeded, he discovered a robin 
apparently in a state of great agitation, 
whose movements immediately certified him 
of the true cause of tho alarm. 
An adder twenty inches long, and one inch 
in circumference, had managed to drag it¬ 
self up the face of tho quarry, and was at 
that moment in the very act of protruding 
his ugly head over the edge of a nest built 
among the stumps of the cut down brush¬ 
wood, and containing poor mother robin’s 
unfledged offspring—her maternal instinct 
prompting her to tho only defencoof which 
she was capable. She was engaged, when 
Mr. Newall first got his cyo upon her, in 
alternately coming down the one moment 
upon the spoilator, darting her beak into 
his forehead, and anon rising on the other 
to the height of a yard or so, above tho 
scene of danger. It was the act of a mo¬ 
ment for Mr. Newall to dislodge the agres- 
sor. But in doing so, two of the little birds 
were thrown out of the nest, where, how¬ 
ever, they wore speedily and carefully re¬ 
placed. 
While Mr. Newall was killing tho adder, 
the joy of the parent bird was so excessive, 
that she actually perched on the left arm 
of her benefactor, and watched with an un¬ 
mistakable and intense delight, every blow 
inflicted by his right arm on her morciless 
and disappointed enemy; and when that en¬ 
emy lay dead, she alighted upon, and pecked 
the lifeless trunk with all her vigor, and re¬ 
venge thus taken, entered her nest, and 
having ascertained that all was safe, swiftly 
repaired to a neighboring branch, and piped, 
as best she could, what was no doubt meant 
for a hymn of gratitude, and a song of tri¬ 
umph. When at work since, Mr. Newall 
has been evidently recognized by the tiny 
biped, and we do hope that nothing may 
occur to interrupt a friendship originating 
in circumstances so specially interesting.— 
Dumfries ( Scotland ) Courier. 
A RATTLESNAKE STORY- 
Last fall, a woman residing in the vicini¬ 
ty of Worcester was picking blackberries, 
in a field near her house, having with her 
her only child, a bright-eyed little fellow of 
less than a year old. The babe sat upon 
the ground in the open space, amusing itself 
by grasping at a clump of yellow weeds 
that grew within reach, and eating berries 
brought to him from time to time by his 
mother. 
Tho latter, at length, intent upon gather¬ 
ing the fine fruit, passed around a rock 
which hid her child from view. She was 
about to return to him, when, hearing him 
laughing and crowing in great glee, and 
thinking he must bo safe as long as he was 
so happy, she remained a little longer 
where she was. Suddenly tho little voico 
ceased, and after another minute’s delay, 
the young mother stepped upon the rock 
and looked over, expecting to see her babe 
asleep : instead of which he was sitting per¬ 
fectly motionless, his lips parted, and his 
wide open eyes fixed with a singular expres¬ 
sion upon some object which at first she was 
unable to discern. 
Yet you can judge of her horror when, on 
a closer scrutiny, she perceived, some four 
feet from tho infant, a rattlesnake, with 
its glittering eyes fixed upon his, and near¬ 
ing him by an almost imperceptible motion ! 
The sight of her darling’s peril so nearly 
paralyzed her, that for an instant she be"- 
lieved the dreadful fascination had extend¬ 
ed to herself; but the certainty, that un¬ 
less sho was tho instrument of salvation to 
her child, he was inevitably lost, in somo 
degree restored her power. Sho glanced 
wildly around for something that might be 
used as a weapon, but nothing appearod, 
and already the venomous reptile had pas¬ 
sed over half the space which divided him 
from his victim. Another moment and he 
would be lost! What could be done ? 
In her hand she held a broad tin pan, 
and quick as thought, springing from the 
rock, she covered tho snake with it, and 
stood upon it to prevent his escape. The 
charm was broken; tho child moved, sway¬ 
ed to one side, and began to sob. At tho 
same time tho mother recovered her voice 
and screamed for aid, retaining her position 
till it arrived, when the snake was killed. 
He cannot be an unhappy man who has 
the love and smile of woman to accompany 
him in every department of life. 
inbbatlj Jltabings. 
SWEDISH MOTHER’S HYMN. 
Mary IIowitt, ( gentle Mary Howitt, as she 33 sometimes 
called,) has translated from a favorite Swedish author, the 
following beautiful hymn, sung by a mother to her chil¬ 
dren just before the parting “ good night 
There sitteth a dove so white and fair, 
All on the lily spray, 
And she listenetli how to Jesus Christ 
The little children pray. 
Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, 
And to Heaven’s gate hath sped, 
And unto the Father in Heaven she bears 
’Jlie prayers which the clrildrcn have said. 
And back she comes from Heaven’s gate, 
And brings—that dove so mild— 
From the Father in Heaven who hears her speak, 
A blessing on every child. 
Then children lift up a pious prayer, 
It hears whatever you say, 
That Heavenly dove so white and fair, 
All on the lily spray. 
VISIT THE SICK. 
Go to them in their darkened chambers; 
go with smiles, and words of love and con¬ 
solation ; you may know .some time, when 
the gaunt hand of sickness presses upon your 
brow, how sweet it is to hear the gentlo 
voice of a friend. Too often do we neglect 
those who hold communion only with long 
hours of pain; but is there any excuse for 
such conduct ? 
We can think of nothing that should de¬ 
ter us, savo diseases that are in their nature 
contagious. Because our nerves are affected 
by the long-drawn sigh, and complaint of 
wearing pain, because we cannot bear to seo 
the contortions that disease forces to the face 
should never be reasons of sufficient weight 
to banish us from the chamber of suffering. 
And those upon whom devolves the caro 
of tho invalid, should make tho sick-room 
as comfortable to visitors as possible. The 
odors of medicine should be counteracted 
by fresh, sweet air; the bed kept scrupu¬ 
lously clean and neatly made, and all hido- 
ous appliances and remedies should bo pla¬ 
ced out of sight of tho lenient ns well as 
the healthier friend. We have been in 
rooms where we could not possibly stay but 
a few moments ; where all words of encour¬ 
agement were completely stilled by the close, 
hot, vapor, where the determination to 
breathe hopo and cheerfulness into tho ear 
of the sick one, was checked as suddenly as 
fire would go out if water was poured upon 
it,—because wo could not be so fool-hardy 
as to dream of recovery when tho vital or¬ 
gans were depressed and poisoned by the 
stifling air. Oh !' we have thought, open 
your windows, let out this noxious atmos¬ 
phere, let God’s great medicine have access 
to tho lungs, and softly lave that heated 
forehead—but no, no ; it would bo death to 
let the air come in upon him ; death came 
nevertheless, and who could wonder ? 
It is well if tho bright innocent faces of 
childhood aro sometimes allowed to cheer 
the darkened chamber. 
“ It is better than medicine,” said a poor, 
wasted creaturo, “ to seo your little boy ; 
what laughing eyes ho has, and what a mu¬ 
sical laugh ;” and she called the merry child 
to her bedside and forgot for the moment 
her almost intolerable misery, as she pulled 
at his glossy curls and stroked them back 
from his forehead; it was a slight pleasure 
that could thus rob her of pain ; who would 
not let sunny-hearted children thus minis¬ 
ter to the sorely stricken ? 
And one who has been helpless for years, 
once exclaimed, when a favorite friend en¬ 
tered her chamber,—“ Oh 1 L-, 1 am so 
glad to seo you, I began to fear I should 
pass another lonely day. I have very few 
calls, and I suppose I am tedious to my ac¬ 
quaintances ; they get tired of seeing tho 
same emaciated face, and listening to tho 
sumo old rejoinder; but I am never tired— 
and there were tears in her blue eyes—nev¬ 
er, never, never, of beholding those I love. 
Oh ! they cannot tell how sometimes I yearn 
till I am soul-sick, for a familiar voico, a 
pleasant face. Through the long night I 
lie awake, and sometimes to beguile my pain, 
count the ticking of yonder clock, till I am 
nearly bewildered, and fancy everything 
takes form and motion around me ; and all 
day it is tho same, with tho exception of 
the blessed sun, that always seems pleasant 
to me. I am not allowed to read, and my 
poor sister must bo away to toil for herself 
and me—God bless her. And it i5 so sweet, 
oh! sweeter than I can express, to even 
hear the knock that announces a callor. I 
sometimes think that the dear Christians do 
not spend as much time with us poor sick 
creatures, as they might; but perhaps I am 
querulous and unreasonable.” 
Forget not tho sick and helpless; they 
are dependent very much upon sympathy, 
and wishing them well, or pitying them is 
but doing a very little towards their com¬ 
fort. Visit them often ; it is far better than 
to dance in the halls of pleasure, or minis¬ 
ter to your own vanities and selfishness ; and 
a day is coming when a soft voico shall say, 
“inasmuch as ye did it unto theso, the least 
of my little ones ye did it unto me.”— Dost. 
Olive Branch, 
Most of those men that are all the timo 
at their books, have very few moments left 
for their wives and children. And we, for 
our part, would rather hear that a man 
spent two or three hours every day sociably 
in tho bosom of his family, than that he had 
written one hundred volumes. 
I consider the soul of man as the ruin of 
a glorious building, where, amidst great 
heaps of rubbish, you meet with noble frag¬ 
ments of sculpture, broken pillars and obe¬ 
lisks, and a magnificence in confusion. 
Do good with what thou hast, or it will do 
thee no good. 
